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“Don’t say what you’ll regret,” Solomon snapped, giving Constance a rare glimpse into the icy authority that must have either trained or dismissed any number of unruly employees.

“We already know someone opened the door after you locked it. Our aim is to find out if they locked it again behind them.”

In anyone else, Constance would have called it a sag. Garrick was much too stiff to do so, but she was sure he sagged inwardly with relief.

“I found it locked,” he said. “But the key was still in the keyhole and the bolts had not been shot.”

And he hadn’t said so before because he was afraid he might have had an aberration and forgotten to do it as he always did.

“May I see that key?” Constance asked.

Without a word, Garrick led them back through the kitchen to the garden door and took the large key from the hook on the wall. He offered it to Solomon, who merely passed it to Constance. She opened the door to let in the daylight and inspected the business end of the key for signs of tampering.

Finding none, she shook her head and politely returned the key to Garrick. “Thank you. That will be all for now. We’ll show ourselves out the way we came in.”

“Unlikely, then,” Solomon murmured as they returned to the carriage.

“But not impossible. Let’s see what we can discover from your Mr. Terrance.”

*

Mark Terrance was dusting his cabinets and their precious contents.

The maids were not allowed to clean those, and he prided himself on keeping them as beautiful as they had always been.

No fine dust dulled the rims of his porcelain; no tarnish touched his silver.

His jewels glittered and his gold gleamed.

Some of his fellow collectors were stunned that he chose to do all this tedious work himself when he had a house full of servants, but in truth he was at his happiest among his treasures, pottering, cleaning, arranging.

It gave him plenty of time to think. And brood, of course, though he had resolved to do less of that. It would be a difficult resolution to keep now that the wretched Barnabas Lloyd was home with the treasure everyone had been so sure was mere legend.

He replaced the exquisite porcelain bowl in its rightful place at the center of its glass cabinet and was just closing it when a knock sounded at the room door. He growled something that was clearly taken as permission, for the maid came in bearing a small silver tray.

“I said I was not to be disturbed, Becky,” he said irritably.

“No, sir, but the callers at the door asked for you, sir, not the mistress, so I said I’d take in their card.”

Terrance grunted and snatched the card off her tray.

Silver and Grey, it proclaimed, and in smaller script beneath, Inquiries, C. Silver & S. Grey , with a respectable business address.

Intrigued in spite of himself, he said, “Show them in here, Becky. I’ll ring if I want anything else.” After all, one did not drink tea with the representatives of firms in one’s own home.

A moment later, his beautiful room was invaded by two dazzling people.

The woman was exquisite—young, not very tall, but extremely well formed.

Beneath her fashionable hat, her hair shone red and gold like a sunrise, and her features, although perhaps not perfect in themselves, were somehow perfect together. Her eyes were brilliant, and her mouth…

Hastily, he transferred his attention to his male visitor, a tall, dark, slender man with short black hair and skin made bronze either by hotter sun’s than England’s or by birth.

He was handsome enough, but it was more than his looks that seized the attention.

He had an air of authority, of presence.

And although Terrance hadn’t really intended it, he bowed in civil response to his visitors’ courtesies.

Fashion was lost on him, but he had the impression that both were extremely well—and expensively—dressed.

“I’m Terrance,” he said abruptly. “How can I help you?”

“Grey,” the man said, inclining his head. “This is Mrs. Silver. Our apologies for intruding, but we are inquiring about certain valuable items that were stolen recently. As a fellow collector of antiquities, you might well hear whispers of unusual items for sale or perhaps even recently acquired.”

“Not much of a man for whispers,” Terrance said, staring at him with some hauteur. “I have reputable dealers who inform me. And occasionally, I tour the curio shops and pawnshops on the off chance of discoveries. What exactly are you looking for?”

The lady, Mrs. Silver, drew from her large, embroidered bag several sheets of paper, which she presented to him.

“Please, sit down,” he said, although he hadn’t meant to offer that courtesy either.

While they ensconced themselves in the chairs by the fire, from where he usually liked to sit and read and admire his collection, he glanced at the extensive list of items. There was not much in the way of porcelain, but a lot of solid gold items, jewelry, coins, carved statuettes of several eras and materials.

Terrance felt a surge of excitement.

Without raising his eyes from the paper, he found the back of the third chair by feel and maneuvered himself into it. Behind the thrill came laughter he could not prevent, though he tried manfully for several moments.

“This is Barnabas Lloyd’s hand,” he said, raising his eyes at last. “So he found his treasure after all—and managed to lose it again!”

The laughter wouldn’t stay in after that, so he gave it free rein. His visitors did not seem surprised to see him hold his sides with mirth at the misfortune of his fellow collector.

“You do not find it alarming that so discerning a thief is at large?” Mrs. Silver asked, gazing around the cabinets full of his own treasures.

“No, I don’t,” he said frankly. “My collection is known only to a few fellow appreciators of art and beauty. Lloyd goes out of his way to seek adulation and publicity for his exploits as much as his acquisitions. The man is an un discerning philistine who merely masquerades as a collector to the masses. I imagine all the villains in London were lining up to rob him.”

Grey raised one eyebrow. “Is that not a trifle unjust? I understand he arrived back in England with very little fanfare. Did you know he was home, for example?”

“I believe I did.”

“When and how did you hear?”

Terrance pretended to think about that, although jubilation still threatened to burst out of him. Examining Grey’s face, which was by no means foolish, he decided to admit freely to what the man probably knew already.

“I have an interest in a quite different ship. I was looking for any news of it when I came upon the expected arrival of Lloyd’s.

In fact, I went down there, watched him disembark, just to see what he unloaded.

I saw his seamen carry off an old chest, held shut with ropes.

It might as well have had Treasure inscribed on the front in gold lettering. ”

“I see,” Grey murmured, holding his gaze. “Did you also know the treasure was put straight into his strong room at home? From where it was stolen that very night?”

“No. No, I did not know that. There has been nothing about the theft in the newspapers. In fact, I heard he was giving talks and exhibitions of his photographs round all his clubs. Even the Athenaeum!”

“Did you not attend any of his meetings?” Mrs. Silver asked.

She really was a stunning creature. “No. I would not give him the satisfaction.”

“Even though you had the pleasure of dining recently at his home?”

Terrance felt a twinge of guilt. More than Lloyd himself would suffer from this loss, and he had no quarrel with Christine Lloyd. “My wife and Mrs. Lloyd are friends. Lloyd and I are not. The invitation came from Mrs. Lloyd while he was away, and my wife wished to go.”

“Was that the only time you were ever in his house?” Mrs. Silver asked.

“No,” Terrance said reluctantly. He was still angry about those days. “In the past, I visited there often. Lloyd and I used to be friends. Of a sort.”

“What sort?” Mrs. Silver asked.

“The one-sided sort,” Terrance retorted. “I passed on tips to him about collectible items and sales, and he kept his information to himself so that I would spend a fortune on a vase worth less than the kitchen sugar bowl.”

“Was that not your mistake rather than his?” Grey asked.

Terrance narrowed his eyes. Was the man trying to rile him?

To see how angry he truly was with Lloyd?

No chance! He shrugged. “Lloyd clearly rejoiced in my misfortune. But yes, the mistake was mine. I wanted it to be genuine too much and failed to see the signs. Admittedly, it was a dashed good fake, but still… I thought I had bagged a bargain treasure, while Lloyd kept to himself a tip that the vase was a mere copy of one in Blenheim Palace. I never spoke to him again.”

“What did you think of the security at his house?” Grey asked.

Terrance allowed contempt to curl at his lip. “What, his strong room? Excessive and showy, like the man himself.”

“What makes you say that?” Mrs. Silver asked. “Could you see some flaw in it that Lloyd himself missed?”

She was clever, indeed, much more, as it were, than a pretty face. “I never saw it, ma’am. He merely told me about it. Do you mean all this stuff”—he waved the list still clasped in his hand—“was really taken from the strong room? Ha! Knew it was a waste of time. I hope he was properly insured.”

If he wasn’t, Terrance thought with another twinge of shame, poor Christine and the children were done for too.

He’d have to sell what was left of his collection and even that…

Mind you, there were a couple of items Terrance would be prepared to take off their hands for a reasonable sum. That would help.

“To assist us with our observations,” Mrs. Silver said, “could you tell us which rooms you visited when you and your wife dined with Mrs. Lloyd? Did they look the same as before?”

“They hadn’t been redecorated, if that’s what you mean. We were only in the drawing room and the dining room.”

“You did not use the retiring rooms at all?”

Terrance blinked at such unexpected bluntness. Oh yes, they suspected him. Which meant Lloyd did too. That pleased him rather than worried him unduly. “The one on the ground floor.”

“And your wife?”

“Likewise. Young woman—”

“Were you the only guests on that occasion?” Grey interrupted, distracting him so that he forgot to be offended.

“No—the Graftons were there, as I recall, with their daughter and several young men I imagine were there to admire Jemimah Lloyd and the Grafton chit.”

“I don’t suppose you noticed,” Grey said, “whether any of the other guests left the company for any length of time?”

Terrance stared at him. “You suppose rightly.”

“From your knowledge of this world of discerning collectors,” Mrs. Silver said, “are you aware of any who might be unethical enough to steal or cause to be stolen?”

“Of course not,” Terrance said, genuinely shocked.

“Well, thank you for your time,” Grey said, rising. “Might I ask you to inform us should you see or hear of any such items as are listed there?”

Terrance rose with Mrs. Silver, to whom he returned the interesting list. “Of course.” He rang the bell beside the fireplace. “Becky will show you out.”